


No More of You

by 1Forrest1



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breakup, F/M, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sadstuck, Sex Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13237056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1Forrest1/pseuds/1Forrest1
Summary: You are completely aware of how you assured him you could handle him as your matesprit. You told him you were aware of his spontaneous and extravagant mood swings, courtesy of his bipolar disorder.You’d promised him you’d be able to handle it, you were mistaken.





	No More of You

 

You know what you said.

You are completely aware of how you assured him you could handle him as your matesprit. You told him that you were aware of his spontaneous and extravagant mood swings, courtesy of his bipolar disorder.

You’d promised him you’d be able to handle it, you were mistaken.

The first time he slapped you across the face, then pulled harshly on your fins until your lips were clashing painfully together, teeth latching onto skin, you weren’t surprised. Quite frankly, you were expecting the pitch reaction, you deserved it. Who were you, to unplug his computer before he saved the changes to his latest update to the Trollian client? He’d lost two weeks worth of codes and commands to your reckless actions, all because you were too needy and desperate to wait for two more hours...

A perigee ago, all the times he would attack you and pail you like you were pitch, even though you two resided in the red quadrant, reminded you of the time when you two were in a kismesitude. It brought you down memory lane, gave you a sense of nostalgia, and he’d always cuddle you and apologize after ravishing you; all the chaste kisses to your fins made up for the dull throbbing in your lower back.

But that was a perigee ago, and now, you can hardly look at him without whimpering in fear. You are afraid of more than one thing: yes, you are afraid of him, your “matesprit”, but you’re also afraid of what he’s turned you into. A weak, trembling, shell of a troll. Whenever he tenderly kisses you, it takes all of your broken willpower to reciprocate effectively, and not to whine in discomfort. Whenever he bites at your jugular, it’s almost impossible not to cower away.

But, you’ve had enough now. You’re done with him vacillating so frequently, it isn’t fair. You told him you could handle his swings, but you were wrong.

You aren’t flushed for him anymore, his sweet proclamations of love don’t make your vascular pump flutter weakly. They just make you afraid of the pitch confessions of hate and disgust that are to come.

You aren’t pitch for him either. You hate him, yes, but not in the troll sense, more in the human sense. Where you want nothing to do with him, he makes you mad and frightened, you want to avoid him.

And so you do.

You are afraid of your matesprit.

He notices.

He notices because you no longer massage his shoulders as he works at his husktop. You no longer rub his horns and kiss his temples while he’s battling a migraine. Instead, you hide in your side of your shared respiteblock, he’s always particularly fickle when his thinkpan is throbbing. You no longer wear pretty dresses for him, he tries to remind you to wear them, he tells you about how hot it gets him, seeing you in a tiny skirt and a thin blouse. You purposely mailed all your dresses back to Kanaya and Feferi, you need as many excuses to not get pailed by him as possible.

The two of you have not filled a pail in almost over a perigee. Back when you were painfully red for him, pails were being filled every other night. But you aren’t painfully red for him anymore, are you. He still tries to mate with you, of course, wether it be black or red. Either way, your quick wit and clever instincts manage to get you out of being raped by him (he doesn’t know he’s raping you, of course).

“Not now, Sol, m’ stomach hurts.”

“That pail’s broken, see the handle?”

“Sol, I think your computer is beepin’, you should probably check it out.”

“Maybe later, Sol, the ablution trap’s broken, and someone needs to fix it.”

Whenever he wants to mate with you pitch, the excuses hardly faze him. He still tries to get to your nook. He only storms off when he pries your legs open, to find your bulge still in its sheath, and in between your legs hardly wet.

Yes, he noticed you aren’t acting flushed for him anymore. But it’s ok, you’re ready to tell him anyways.

~~~~

“Flushed for you, ED.” Sollux makes one half of a heart with his hand, still slick with sopor slime. You stare at the half heart weakly, and nod.

“ED.”

You hide deeper in the sopor slime, curling away from him, fins drooping low.

“Eridan.”

You sigh, and glance over your shoulder, “yeah?” You mutter. He’s staring at you, reading you. Sharp, black eyebrows slanted in both worry and confusion, his dichromatic eyes appear duller. Feferi told you that happens with psionics when they’re extremely stressed: their eyes loose their usual electric glow. You wonder if his mental strain is your doing.

You almost feel bad.

“ED, you’ve been acting... different, lately.” Sollux says slowly, and his eyelids droop, his yellow fangs worry the black, chapped lips. They’re so thin. He used to be a good kisser, now the unnaturally skinny lips are just ugly to you. “Are you ok?” He asks, and there it is, the flushed side of him, it’s still there, it rarely shows itself, and it no longer affects you.

“I’m fine, Sol.” You say, and curl deeper on yourself, he wraps thin arms around your waist, and presses his bare chest against your back. You try to relax, you really do, but your eyes are bulging out of your head, and you’re aware that your fins have resorted to their natural defensive position, completely flared in an attempt to make you look bigger. Sollux, of course, being Sollux, mistakes the defensive position for arousal, the two look fairly similar. He languidly licks behind your fin, and you despise how it makes you shudder. You may want nothing to do with this mess of a troll, but you can’t deny the fact that he still knows when and how to push all your buttons.

“Sol...” you whisper, and flick your fins away from his mouth, gently trying to scoot away from him. “Sol, stop...”

“ED, c’mon, we haven’t pailed in pedigrees. I need you.”

Your blood pusher does stupid flips within its bone confines. Even though he’s saying he needs you in the physical sense, you know he hungers for you in the emotional sense, too.

It breaks you to do this, it really does, but you have no choice. You can’t live like this anymore.

“Sol, please, I’m really tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

“No.” He growls, and the slowly unsheathing bulges that are rubbing against your lower back lash out at the prospect of actually getting some attention. “No, Eridan, I’m done with just sitting by. What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not like both of them at once? What’s wrong?” He whines, and squeezes you harder. _Nothing is wrong_. You want to say, but you’re done.

You’re done lying to him, and you’re done torturing yourself.

“Sollux.” You sigh, and turn around, you gently grab his hands, your’s are shaking. You don’t know why... this is what you want.

It’s what you need!

“I-“ you know what you need to do, but, despite planning this day out in your head for the past perigee, you don’t actually know what to say. You don’t know how you’ll respond to his reaction, what if he starts crying, or attacks you? The former is more probable, and sounds even more painful to go through than the latter.

Finally, you collect yourself, Sollux is staring expectingly at you, pretty eyes narrowed. There’s only one thing you can say, and only one way to say it. You close your eyes.

You can’t look at his face anymore.

“Sollux. I’m not flushed for you anymore.”

His heart snaps. You hear it in his gasp, feel it as his narrow digits shakily dislodge themselves from your own. You see it in his face, when you open your eyes, you see the turmoil in his mouth, the way it quivers. In his eyes, yellow tears welling up in the corners so transparent, they appear almost crystalline.

And then it is gone as soon as it comes.

“Ok.” He takes a deep breath, and his eyes harden again. “Ok, so you’re pitch then? I can work with that.” Instantly, his claws are unsheathed and teasing your gills, which are clamped shut both out of fear of being fondled by him, and in order to keep slime out of you. You don’t know which theory is more painful to bear.

“No, Sol.” You jerk away from his hands, his roaming hands, they’re always searching. “I’m not pitch either... I’m... nothing.” You say.

“What?” He scoffs, “ED, there’s no such quad-“

“I don’t want to be in a quadrant with you anymore! Cod, don’t you see?!” You burst out, your own lavender tears begin to collect around your eyes. “Eridan...” he squeaks, and backs away from you. He looks so small, this is hurting him so much.

But he’s been hurting you more, for much longer.

“You ruined our matespritship.” You say, and begin to climb out of the coon. “You and your thing for twos. You constantly abused me, with your constant switching. Forced me to stay on my toes, forced me to stay mentally alert constantly. And I can’t do that! Not after...”

The game.

Everyone always refers to the game, when in search of an excuse.

“I’m not mentally strong enough to be both flushed and pitch for you. I can’t handle kismesitude, that’s why we flipped officially in the first place! I thought I could handle a couple of squabbles every now and then, but completely and utterly flipping on me, with no warning?! Sol, our ‘quadrant’ hardly has a label, it’s hardly a matespritship ninety percent of the time. And I can’t handle it anymore.”

He’s crying. You never see Sollux cry, because he doesn’t cry out of sadness or anger or fear like most trolls, he cries when he’s no longer in control of what’s happening. “So you’re just leaving?!” He bellows, and stumbles out the coon while you towel slime out of your hair, and force your clothes back on.

“Yes. And no.” Your eyes darken, his look hopeful.

“I’m going to Fef’s. She trolled me the other day, said she wanted to try and patch up the moirailegance that you broke, might I add. So yeah, thanks for that. I expect you out of my hive when I  get back tomorrow.”

“Don’t go...” he whispers as you toe your slippers on, you don’t care if you look like you just pailed a thousand trolls, and smell like expired sopor slime, you need to get out of here. You need to be away from him. “Don’t go ED... guppy, I need you...” he whimpers, completely emerged from the coon. His knees are knocking together, and he’s fiddling with his claws, he’s totally naked, his bulges long since retracted.

“Sorry Sol...” you mumble, and open the door to the living block, the first thing that faces you is Sollux’s extravagant husktop set up. It’s probably going to take more than a day to get all of that equipment out of your hive, but you don’t care.

“Maybe in a sweep or two, when you get your emotions together, I’ll reconsider...” you say with a weak smile. It’s an empty promise, you just wish Sollux could see that.

He smiles shakily through his tears, and nods. He’s so pretty... maybe someday, when the trauma of the game wears off, the two of you can try again, but for now, you can’t stay near him anymore.

~~~~

One week later, you’re at Feferi’s hive, watching some movies that Rose human picked out specifically for the two of you. You and she have successfully patched up your relationship, and you’re proud to call her your moirail. It helps to have her there, to have a moirail, especially when you’d just lost a matesprit.

You and Feferi are viewing “In Which a Father Looses Both His Wife and Children After a Series of Traumatic Events. Left with Only One Son, the Father Naturally Becomes Rather Condescending, and Protective of the Last of His Bloodline. When the Son is Kidnapped, the Father Embarks on a Journey Across the Ocean with a Mentally Unstable Female in an Attempt to Find Him.”

Or, as Rose human had called it, Finding Nemo.

Feferi fell asleep about halfway through, her head pillowed in your lap. You’re hardly paying attention to the movie, as you idly card a bejeweled finger through Feferi’s unruly hair.

Suddenly, your Personal Communicator buzzes from its place in your pocket. You fish it out, you mean to only cast a glance at the message, but the yellow swill that fills your screen forces you to read the message more fervently. Your heart drops.

_—twinArmageddons [TA] has begun trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]!—_

**TA: ii mii22 you 2o much.**

_—twinArmageddons [TA] has ceased trolling caligulasAquarium [CA]!—_

“Eri-fin?”

“Yeah Fef?”

_—caligulasAquarium [CA] has blocked twinArmageddons [TA]!—_

“Are you oar-cray?”

“I’m fin, Fef.”


End file.
